


and

by inuredaydream



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-20 22:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30011871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inuredaydream/pseuds/inuredaydream
Summary: soon, you'll forget this even existed in the first place.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

third life down.

  
  
  


darkness surrounds the arena.

its all tommy can see.

is darkness.

wrapping tommy in its grasp.

its everything that tommy dreamed of.

its all he ever wanted.

wasn't it?

it was what tommy had wanted during his time.

during the exile.

why would tubbo do that to him?

did he hate him?

why didn't he come for tommy whenever he was dying?

why didn't sam come for tommy when he was dying?

why didn't phil come for tommy when he was dying?

it didn't matter.

not anymore.

the wounds hurt and they stung sour in his veins.

but ultimately.

_ultimately._

there was nothing he could do about it.

he was curled in a feral position.

he didn't dare move from the same position he had been.

when he had his head crushed by a prison boot.

by none other than the smps worst nightmare.

funnily enough, named dream.

manipulative little bitch.

tommy was too tired to be angry.

yes,

yes.

go back to the previous ideas.

take it back.

to his position.

he didn't dare to move his body.

curled fatally, pathetically.

he didn't know if.

whenever he moved his head.

a new wave of pain should come.

it was dead silent around him.

he didn't even hear lava.

or pistons.

or water.

or footsteps.

or the tickling of a clock.

or a chuckle.

or the sound of a quill.

or the sound of pages.

it was just quiet.

but his ears didn't ring.

not like how ones normally does when in a empty room.

without sound or meaning.

despite tommy hating the prison.

tommy found that he hated this so much more,

he hated the fact that this is quiet.

so lonely.

and impossible.

it was like the.

NO DONT.

the exile.

the exile.

remember it.

never forget it.

it was bleak.

it was exile.

whenever his life was bleak.

and chirp played mysteriously from a jukebox.

and tommy was encased in water.

and when tommy's clothes were singed.

and burnt.

and torn.

and worn.

and broken.

MY BRAIN CANT STOP THINKING.

tommy doesn't know where he is.

why he's here.

but his body is curled.

his eyes don't dare open.

he knew something.

he knew where he was before.

in a sudden flash.

a sudden memory.

it was quite sudden.

it flooded like a dam was broken.

he didn't care open his eyes.

he was afraid to.

would he die if he did so?

where was tubbo?

where was sam?

where was philza?

daddy?

mommy?

his voice creaked out so very slightly.

broken syllables.

he cries out for his mommy.

but.

but.

but.

nobody responded.

but.

he knew he wasn't dead.

or at least.

in this place.

he could hear himself cry.

it somehow broke him.

DONT THINK ABOUT IT.

brain blank.

lets go back.

to the memory before.

yes.

where was he now?

oh yes.

ah yes.

he knows now.

he was curled up against the cool blackstone of a prison cell.

holding his worst nightmare.

his head getting smashed.

pushed and crashed into the ground.

like its some type of smoothie.

his blood and guts mixing.

with shattered bones.

he couldn't even cry.

he is so happy he wasn't being touched right now.

he doesn't know what would have happened. 

if he were to be touched.

he feels he would cry.

and that's ok.

if it weren't for how much his voice croaked.

and how much if fumbled.

and messed up.

then maybe it would al be okay.

tommy didn't even notice the footsteps that.

would permeate and tip toe across the stage.

of permablack.

some clacking of boots.

he wants to cry out for mommy.

he's scared.

he curls up and lets his arms grasp at his shoulders.

he hears a call for his name, the voice sounds familiar.

he swears it sounds so.

so sweet.

its why.

he decides.

not to protest.

when he's held.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [excert at the beginning is “death” by alan watts]

_...what this is saying then is just  _

_ as you don’t know  _

_ how you manage to be conscious,  _

_ how you manage to grow and shape this body of yours,  _

_ that doesn’t mean to say that you’re not doing it.  _

_ equally,  _

_ you don’t know how the universe shines the stars,  _

_ constellates the constellations, and galactifies the galaxies  _

_ you don’t know.  _

_ but that doesn’t mean to say that you  _

_ aren’t doing it just the same way as you are breathing  _

_ without knowing how you breathe. _

the excerpt of the talk proceeds to play on the small radio that shook with static and noise erupting from the speakers, as a soft piano and saxophone gently relaxes the both. of course, the static, indicating that it has poor signal. of course- it would. this is the hell that tmmy has been trapped in.

wilbur can be found sitting across from tommy, fiddling with a 52-pack of cards, with hearts, spades, diamonds and clubs. resembling suchso. some of the cards, if not most, were folded at the middle due to usage. along with the sides having slight tearing from the usage from the larger mans, calloused hands. rough from handling guns and bombs. leaving his skin to lose the innocent softness it once held, and only resembles a type of leather. because despite the man not liking to wear armor, his skin felt like the rough and gritty texture of leather armor. maybe that was why he didnt wear any.

tommy couldn’t help but look at the man, the black, no, venta black, void that consumed both of them, but illuminated them just enough to where it gives the illusion that they are in a 2d painting, or drawing. they pop so unnaturally against the atmosphere that the only thing that make sit feel like a realm is the dimensions and perspectives of figures that would occasionally occur whenever someone was crouched or such. 

like now, tommy had missed wilbur. he knows that he did, he loved the man and he knew that wilburs calloused hands could form and mold tommy into a figure and let it dry, it was similar to clay. and that was the most interesting part about it. it should make tommy afraid. but it doesnt matter, wilbur was here. which was why he was sitting in front of his crossed legs, his head pressed against the mans chest. his arms wrapped around tommy, playing around with the cards. self-playing a game of patience. 

tommy didnt really care, he was just spacing out to listen to the calm, small radio. and the small rustle of cards and plastic lamination. and fingernails dragging across surfaces, and such. wilbur hummed along to one of the instrumental songs on the radio. and honestly, with a deep exhale that left tommys nose, his body rotated and started to press his side into wilburs chest. the man was warm, despite him being dead. maybe his body was still warm from the jailcell, whatever t was, that was alright with tommy. 

the blonde had gotten done, finally, with his fit of the day, running around and scouring in a frenzy, panicking, begging to be let out this morphing, black prisoncell with wilbur. he wanted to see the sun, and flowers, and wanted to see tubbo, and ranboo, and sam nook, and jack, and all of his friends. he wanted to see.

_ but he cant. _

_ but he cant. _

_ but he cant. _

_ but he cant. _

_ but he cant. _

_ but he cant. _

_ but he cant. _

and wilbur had to affirm that.

he had been in tommys shoes a long time ago, years ago, back when he was young. he missed the sun as well, and he missed the grass, the feel of laying on top of a hill, glazed in sun. he missed the affections, he would mumble.

and tommy would ask; what affections?

wilbur went on, he missed kisses, and hugs, and cuddles and comfort. he was still a boy who grew up too fast. that villain inside of wilbur almost dissolved for tommy. it was foolish how emotionally wobbly and formable he would, and could, get with wlbur. he knew exactly what to say to make tommy feel apologetic and sorry for wilbur. although he was the bad guy, and despite everything. he had still destroyed everything.

but after tommy cred deeply and passionately into wilburs chest, he couldnt find it in himself to care that much, at least he was finally here with his only figure that he guided himself after. although he promised not to be the next wilbur. it was really hard to.

and that was another issue, right there, before you. tommy keeps thinking as if, one day, perhaps, he’ll go home.

and then tommy, transferred back to the subject of wilburs affections, the gentle kiss that he would lean up and press to wilburs lips, it was youthful and hesitant. and tommys right foot wobbled and flicked out of nervousness.

wilburs eyes erupted open, and he almost flinched back, as his body launched back. he then gently went back to tommy, after a moment of seeing tommys hurt face. he smiled weakly, pathetically, and averted his eyes diagonally to the “ground”. he then instructed tommy to just… sit with him.

the blonde was so confused, his once saturated body going down into the planes of desaturation like wilbur does. maybe pale wasnt a bad look on him.

maybe tommy didnt mind the tint of being nearly dead, maye it was alright for him. maybe he didnt mind so much about being incorporeal. maybe he didnt mind that the only face he ever saw was wilburs. jschlatt and mexican dream were never anywhere to be seen, though wilbur had commented on them being “asleep”

maybe they disappeared. maybe they were forgotten, and not celebrated nor mourned. so they just left and disappeared like the way they came. sudden, isolated, and unforgivingly cold. it was a type of death that all you can do is gawk in shock at its occurrence. mumbling an apology, because you CANT understand.

  
  


**they never could.**

**they never could.**

**THEY NEVER COULD.**

**THEY NEVER COULD.**

**THEY NEVER COULD.**

**THEY NEVER COULD.**

**THEY NEVER COULD.**

  
  


tommys breath starts to race, and he's uncertain if he is okay anymore. he curls up on wilburs stomach and starts to shake again, he curls deeper and tried to cover his head. he was reliving it all again.

he was back in the prison cell, it was all gone, tommy, cant you see, it doesnt exist anymore, death was just a concept you are dreaming. trapped with dream. dream. dream. dream.

such irony, a word that is supposed to indicate fufillment, prophecy and exact goals, is the very downfall of the unlucky hero. or, the monster?

**he was reliving it again. there was nothing he could do.**

**words broken and stammered, blood was everywhere.**

_ he didnt know what to do. when he was pinned into the flooring, dreams leg swung across his torso as he attempted to escape. _

_ please dont hurt me dream, i am just a child. i dont want to die, i dont want to get hurt. i want to be okay. i dont want to be hurt. i want to be free. i will never speak of the discs again, you can keep them, dont hurt me, _

_ please for i am so, so young. _

_ dream would never hear him beg. hell if he ever let that happen. but god, if it werent so tempting to beg for his freedom, giving him access to anything rather than offer him the ability to take his final life.  _

_ because he knew, he KNEW. that was what was going to happen to him. _

_ and that mocking tone of a green bastard came back. _

  
  


**“IT WAS ALL OVER!**

**ALAS TOMMY! ITS OVER!**

**TIME HAS HIT THIRTEEN!**

  
  


_ his head was getting kicked in again, and his head hurt, dreams foot was bashing his ribcage, and he was right, he had wanted to meet schlatt, hadn’t he? so why was he so against it? _

_ because hes fucking dying, no fucking SHIT. _

_ his hair was gripped, as dream wrapped a leg around his body, which was pinned on the flooring. the hard, blackstone. dream was no longer even a person, if he ever was one to begin with. he, instead, had a crazed, feral face and made tommy scream in pain as he was being founded into the flooring. _

_ his brain was exposed, his head caved in as bone smashed and his head HURT. he screamed for dream to stop, oh he did. crying as he saw black splotches as his consciousness was brought to escapism as his body numbed. but the remains of any touches after that left stung. _

_ anyone that touched him would make him scream, any mob would send him into anger. and he was damn sure that if he wasnt in an endless void where nothing could hurt him (physically), then he would be trapped inside of the crevices of his home and never come out. _

_ but no. he wasnt home. _

_ he doubted he would ever go home now. _

  
  


**“IT WAS ALL OVER!**

**TIME WAS HITTING 13**

**THE CLOCK WAS BURNT!”**

_ turn around. _

_ dreams right there, and hes standing, and hes holding that fucking book. its the setching of a quill. hes hunched over, but tommy is rocking. he wants out of here. there was NO escape. he couldnt kill dream. there was nothing he could do. he thought he would finally get closure. turns out hes unlucky. _

_ he never gets his way does he? hes doomed to repeat the same, sickening cycle that makes him feel sick to himself and he feels the need to hunch over and throw up into the lava again (because dream nearly killed him whenever he decided to throw up in the water that dream liked to soak in a lot) _

_ and worst of all, tommy was just hungry. his stomach roared like an angry tiger as he searched for a peace of mind, attempting to roar out. he couldnt cry, and couldnt scream. because then his voce would just tear and it would hurt to swallow the dry potatoes down his throat, and the water barely made his throat feel any better. he needed some type of moisturizer. _

_ and, generally. it didnt feel as good whenever dream would punch tommy in his stomach and make him wail out and cry in pain. kicking him for fun, hearing that maniacal laughter. as dream had the luxury of respawning, and healing his wounds. but no. _

_ he didnt. he had to live with the bruises. _

_ he had to sweat out the fevers and tremble through the bruises. _

his body shook.

and his breathing was heavy, and wilburs hands wrapped around tommy gently. his body was trembling and goddamnit he was shaking and he was trembling and shaking and wobbling and everything else was warping and his eyes warped and the teared evaporated and his heart accelerated and he wailed.

reality is gone.

**“ALAS TOMMY! ITS OVER!**

**TIME HAS HIT THIRTEEN!”**

_ the most comedic part about it all is that it wasnt even things that dream had ever said to the blonde. it was all in his head, like how dream had told him long ago.  _

_ it was all in his head. he was always told that. it was never dream, it was never tubbo. it was never jack. it was never wilbur. it was never sam. it was never techno. it was never phil. it was never. it was never it. _

_ it was all on your, and he was pathetic for thinking others. _

_ it made tommy wail. because for some reason, he believed it. _

  
  


phil? wilbur, are you there?

“yes, yes, im here, tommy.”

tommy inhaled, and he shivered for a moment, just for a moment. he shivered, but he focused back on the radio, 

“tommy, you need to open your eyes.”

but wilbur has the bad guy, why was he being so nice to tommy? he deserved to die, pain and suffering. why was he not being yelled at for being the bad guy. why couldnt he be used for good. taken up and evaporated into space. why did his thoughts betray him so?

why couldnt, for one simple, quiet moment, have a peace of mind.

“tommy, open your eyes for me.” tommy froze, and shook his head in understanding. 

“you have to understand tommy, i know what its like to lose yourself in this place. you cant keep dwelling over the evils of the way you died. he is never going to hurt you again, he is there, and you are here. he cannot come here.”

tommy nods, and keeps understanding. understanding, understanding.

“you need to open your eyes, and look at me, please.” a shivered breath is taken from the brunette. “it will bring you back to reality.”

tommy let his little eyes flutter open, pearls of blue skies is displayed in watery orbs, he eyes wilbur. and he sees how calm, and understanding wilbur is. his face is not sown into that smirk, but unwoven and allowing his face to wear a gentler, affirming look of comfort. for a moment, just for a moment, perhaps, tommy could be alright.

he inhaled, and exhaled, just staring at wilbur. 

time was not going anywhere. it was fine, there is no thirteen. tommy was alright. he was... safe.

if this wasnt the afterlife, and tommy wasnt in perhaps, danger of wilbur, then he would possibly have the chance of realizing that wilbur is a villain, and he coil crush him under his boot, and hurt the little boy. but instead, tommy relaxed, a defeated, baggy look comes back washing over tommy and he deflates on wilburs chest. his bones relaxing into the muscle that he used as a pillow. of course, it would be all alright.

wilby, he would dare mutter. made him feel accompanied by someone who cares. even if he was just manipulating tommy, (he doubted, for some reason) he wasnt hurting tommy. letting his breaths heighten and being pushed into explosive holes and taking damage and-

“look at me, tommy, you’re freaking out again.”

tommys thoughts were stolen, as one of his smaller hands wrapped around one of wilburs stronger, bigger hands. calloused leather meeting the softer hands, but still rough from climbing mountains and fighting enemies. gripping a sword too tight, and the rough end of an arrow. it brought tommy to his knees.

he looked up at wilbur, his hand comfortably slotted around tommys hand, and tommy adjusted his seating on wilbur, attempting to give the man some comfort for the situation he was currently having to deal with. but wilur wasnt protesting, he was alright. besides, this isnt like the ghostbur that tommy had gotten so adjusted to on the surface.

this was real, and he wanted to feel.

recalling with wilbur said about affection, he gripped wilburs hand, and his eyes went straight into wilburs soul as he stared straight at wilbur. he stared back, his pupils dilating slightly as toms relaxed, he fumbled with some words, only coming out as vowels of mess, before he breathed, and tried again, after wilbur prompted him to take his time.

moments pass with silence to tommys question;

“can we, uh, be closer?”

the starting notes to june gloom played quietly on the stereo as wilbur gently placed tommy onto his lap, before they pressed into eachother with the softness of butterflies, the soft murmur of breath on chapped lips, they would occasionally make small mewls of sound, due to the calm. they needed a breath, even so. they wouldnt part away to let the smoke of their passion emulate into the air.

not for awhile, but maybe, for tommy, it was quite okay.

it was more than okay, wilbur was the only one who could corner him, trap him, and leave him coming out relaxed, and dazed out as they fumble around in another countless day in the afterlife. exchanging affection and attention.

it was what they both needed. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is an experimental story,  
> ive never done multichapter before.
> 
> send any questions here if you want  
> https://curiouscat.qa/inuredaydreams


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